[Episode IV. Chapter 18]______________________________________

THE SHINY LIQUIDY STEPS MATERIALIZED JUST BENEATH THE EGG-pod and Fletcher Munsin found himself dragged down them forcefully, caught in the vicious death grip of the Mother Magdalena. The idea of trying to break free Fletcher Munsin did not even entertain, for an escape would halt this process that was so revealing his purpose, he noted, not to mention it was utterly useless for him to take that route. And although he really, really wanted to at this moment, the helpless man tried to keep his composure, very much wishing to get through this “single, special circumstance” as quickly as possible.

The man was held forcefully. Unaware of all of his identical past lives, Fletcher Munsin currently never had Imagined his sacrifice to include so much anger underlain by his counterpart of Magdalena; the man was scared at the premonition displayed by her. He felt like screaming, held it in.

At the bottom of the steps, Mother Magdalena strode forward just a bit, tightly clutching her breathing prized possession of heavy male hormones by the neck, then firmly flung him to the ground. The man hit it hard, landing on his back. He realized he was naked.

The Mother, graciously adorned in her translucent, protective golden dress, foully strutting a smutty commando in coarse, intimate fashion, brusquely dropped to her knees before Fletcher Munsin, then plunked her bare ass down uncouth upon the filthy dirt before the nervous man. And with a taunting smirk and fastidious twinkle in her Eyes, she slowly extended out her slightly sweaty, fine limber legs, dragging them through the dust, and up against Fletcher Munsin’s legs, which were also spread out in front of the naked man.

She giggled.

Slowly, the Mother wrapped her legs around Fletcher Munsin’s legs and squeezed firmly. And it was somewhat insect-like in its conduct.

As to the present occurrence of the Mother Magdalena having Fletcher Munsin in a full leg-lock, what began as a little too snug quickly turned to way too brutal.

The Mother sensually cocked her head back behind her, and messily shook her tangled tresses about, letting free her glossy locks generously about her. Her lips puckered up faintly. She then thrust her Head upward with exaggeration and shook it hotly, the strands of her hair fluid to her tosses.

Fletcher Munsin was confounded. He found it difficult and confusing to accept that such abrasive, vulgar behavior was to be exemplified by a woman so perfectly gorgeous. He rubbed his Eyes hard with two fists, took another look.

The Mother then paused for just a moment, shook her head, paused, shook it again, and stared directly at Fletcher Munsin. As she was doing this, the Mother kept opening and closing her mouth slightly in a slow, sumptuous pattern, clearly exciting herself dramatically before the helpless, most hapless, Lamb of Man.

Upon attempting for a moment to resist temptation, mostly to test the response, Fletcher Munsin withdrew a ways backward with a back-crawl. He momentarily convinced himself that this woman was completely faking the act, but then quickly realized with a shudder that, Truthfully, it wouldn’t really matter to him if she indeed was or not.

It was Dark around the area of the dome where they had landed, and all the poor man could see out his glassy-Eyed gaze as he lay pathetically on the ground was a jet-black, domineering source of his sick self reflecting back at him from the gloomy silhouette of the Mother that dawdled just ahead against a mysty, dim light that emanated from her most slowly, her silhouette painting itself eerily against the silver space-pod acting as the backdrop from where he lay. The man simply could not focus on anything except this bizarre, horrifying trans-optical illusion spilling its filth forth into his sick head. And it lurked.

The man started to panic.

Instinctively sensing his fear, the Mother again quickly closed in on the man, dainty as a fervent sprite, and cocked her Head backward, her lids lightly latched up. Her translucent, transparent shimmering dress of the almighty Solaria sparkled impeccably, and her perfect tone, smooth, sweating body glowed through it tauntingly. The man could see Mother Magdalena’s face perfectly now. And he got cramps in his belly from how insanely attracted he Truly felt to this most startlingly stunning, ultra-powerful woman.

She started moaning… softly at first. She looked like some innocent child’s lovable ragdoll that had been Left Behind in the housefire it was destined to burn in.

The Mother then abruptly augmented her vocal tones compellingly throughout multiple dimensions with loud, shrill, crystal-clear bursts that audibly painted the most compelling sound portrait. She sounded like an High Angel delivering the most gracious and poignant melodies to be heard by anyone with ears to hear them.

Fletcher Munsin was no doubt aroused. He started to see colorful hues escaping the Mother’s mouth and start to encircle her persona. The seeable, melodic vocals glistened with every color from the light spectrum, and then some.

But her beautiful singing suddenly became screeched and out-of-tune as she started barking violently skyward, as if it were a Full Moon. As complex and confusing as all this was for Fletcher Munsin to comprehend, these Wicked womanly wails did not sound human, whatsoever. This disturbing element of the unexplainable added insult to Fletcher Munsin’s brutal injury, and he started breaking out in a heavy sweat.

The Mother, so devious, continued to sway her Head about vigorously, over and over, forming a long, dark-brown undulating river about her Dark body, her hair dusting up dirt around it, her presence becoming more and more sinister and ominous. Her Eyes were glowing and focused directly at Fletcher Munsin.

Fletcher Munsin could focus on nothing else but the Mother’s lustrous, luscious curves. It was almost surreal to him. She was so tall and so tight, so stunning and so slightly embodied a starving dragon’s discourse impeccably.

Sifting her body with her hands ever-so-smoothly, the Mother slowly came closer to the poor man and proceeded to wring her legs around Fletcher Munsin even more forcefully now, as if trying to squeeze out some internal juice the man may’ve been harvesting inside his body.


She let out a high-pitched, fiendish howl, her head tilting as far back as it would go now, her Eyes rolling all the way back up into her skull. Fletcher Munsin scowled and tilted his head inward, down before his chest sweating, trembling weakly, his Eyes shutting tightly now.

And he braced himself to expect the worst type of agony he could Imagine.

“FUCK!” Magdalena screamed out her favorite word. “OW!”

She snapped her head swiftly forthright, a shadow falling over most of her face save her Eyes. She locked sights with Fletcher Munsin’s bemused Eyes, a grimace that he couldn’t see growing over her face.

Fletcher Munsin gazed up in perplexed horror as sinister ram-type horns abruptly ripped out of either side of the dark silhouette that was Mother Magdalena’s Head, and twisted contemptuously. The dreadful projections coming to curl out slightly and freezing into form, Lina let open her mouth slowly more and more as she unleashed a deep, dark roar more hideous than anything she exemplified earlier.

Much more so.

She remained still for just a brief moment.

Fletcher Munsin’s Heart was beating extremely fast.

Then, as the Mother slowly inched even closer to Fletcher Munsin, her dominant Eyes promptly shot out three bright-yellow beams from the black figure of her Head. There were three beams, with the Third Eye located in the center of her forehead. She lunged at the man, oh so hopeless, grabbed his wrists, pinned him down on the ground forcefully!

“FUCK YOU!” she shouted gratuitously, staring directly at the man with all of her Eyes, hate and anguish and love fiercely lit up in the brightness of their projections.

Fletcher Munsin lay still in a state of total shock and extreme discomfort.

And Magdalena’s open smile, which the man could now clearly see as bright as morning, was spread so wide it seemed to extend clean off her face. The Mother’s beams of vision pierced Fletcher Munsin, and he felt it intensely as hack-saw-like jagged daggers shanking him repeatedly.


A most brutal, physically violent sensation of extremely sharp stinging sensations now shot through the poor man with Ultraviolence, and his body surged in response. Trembling uncontrollably, the man was sizing up his brilliant energies, as well as his physical mass, in preparation for a full-out disclosure of his intentions to the “Powers That Were” at that particular moment. And drool was dribbling off the exposed teeth of the Mother and onto his face.

Mother Magdalena had now become thoroughly wound-up.

The Mother unleashed a deafening guffaw that echoed in deep rumbles throughout the whole of the lofty grotto. The excessively domineering, Dark sounds reverberated in electrical sparkles of slight static against the platinum-sheathed titanium alloy glass dome perimeter and echoed eerily, most loudly across the entire expanse of the Andromeda Biodome.

‘Play time’ was now definitely over.

The Mother fiercely grasped Fletcher Munsin’s bare face with her long, razor-sharp fingernails, pierced them fiercely way deep into his skin determinately, drawing driblets of thick, dark bloodstreams that ghastly trickled down his horrified face. Even as he tried not to scream, the man so Wickedly afflicted could not help but release a disturbing wail at this brutal gesture. Having lodged her fingernails deep within Fletcher Munsin’s face skin, penetrating them as deeply as they would possibly go, Magdalena made sure she had a firm clench, shrieked a horrid shriek, and then, using her nails that were stuck inside the man’s face, proceeded to slam the back of his Head forcefully against the bleak gardening surface of the dome’s soil again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again…

As she continued to do this, she let out horrible wails of laughter that sounded more like painful shrills of loathing. She didn’t dislodge her claws from her grip, and her arm remained held out to the man’s now fucked-up face. And she steadily forced her nails deeper. She wanted to feel bone.

She stopped. A pause.

“Don’t you dare move,” she muttered softly, deeply, emotively, sexually with clenched jaw.

She spat, licked her lips, her claws lodged deep within Fletcher Munsin’s gory face. She seemed to be working on him like a model airplane.


Fletcher Munsin lay on his back, his face within the tight nail-grip of the Mother for several minutes as she paused briefly, looking away, taking quick breaths.

The man imagined this to be only the beginning, as to expect the worst from the Mother, and he prepared for the worst type of vicious torment he could Imagine, fearing this mad super-powerful woman might actually kill him before she could fuck him.

Oh, he knew she would most brutally fuck him.

And as exceptionally High as his sex drive was, and as exceptionally alluring as Magdalena’s body was, the enticement to be elicited by the Mother would undoubtedly prove to be altogether too captivating for Fletcher Munsin; her poignant hips wielded a power no greater than the force driving a semen’s stream.

On the other hand, though, the man would certainly not be looking forward to the gracious Sacred activity.

Fletcher Munsin Knew all about what was going on, even as he now pretended to envision many alternative ideas of how he thought this special sick act should properly be done objectively, if indeed at all, and indeed at this particular moment and location.

The humble, hunky Fletcher Munsin needed to Sacrifice himself. It was the man’s sole purpose, and he always Knew this. He knew that he only partially existed anyhow. But Eternally.

The poor man was just very easily distracted.

But what he was feeling now seemed super surreal. He hyper-extended his Imagination and emotional capacity to convince himself momentarily that this idea of bizarre sexual intercourse he dared prepare himself for was actually the way True sexual intercourse should be experienced “in God’s Eyes,” and carried out in order to yield the “most preferred fertile germ.” These thoughts, of course, were but highly suggestive psychotronic projections of the Dark, most deceptive High Energies of Solaria, the effects of which spun off from the Mother all around her in lucid swirls, almost like slowly wafting steam emanating from a hot body in a cold atmosphere, but tinted in an opaque azure.


Recalling Lachrylon’s Divine Words that disclosed how he had to accept what was happening all at Once during the brutal seduction, as graciously as he could, the very anxious man now telepathically cursed out the Last Godhed as he tried penetrating the Earth’s practically non-existent Psi-Banks from afar. This, the man Knew all-too-well, was impossible; the Earth’s Psi Banks were currently entirely thrown off due to the severely unstable tectonic plates within the Earth’s crust. Or so he thought.

Then the man took in as deep a breath as he could, cleared his mind as fully as possible, and tried to temporarily envision himself living peacefully in another body, in another life, in another time. He figured this may help in dealing with the horrible pain he felt. Distract him.

He wondered if right now was the very moment he would be able to scale the seemingly detached Capstone of the Pyramid of Divine Consciousness and gain multi-awareness of his Oversoul as well as the various lower and higher counterparts to his Oversoul.

“Not even quivering at all, huh?” the Mother murmured.

“Keep your Eyes shut!” she demanded as she started to slowly retract her fingernails out of the poor man’s skin, keeping within the rough grooves they’d just created inside of him. Fletcher Munsin couldn’t help but cry out at the pain. He tried to remain calm, envisioned “a dainty pixie fluttering about on the other side of his Eyelids, a benevolent fairy with a wand that could conjure up lovely things of the most profound enjoyment for creatures in need of fulfillment of personal primordial pleasures.”

He shook himself suddenly. The man recalled that these pleasant thoughts were not what he was supposed to be thinking about; he remembered that he must fully accept what was happening to him, embrace the pain, and recognize it for what it Truly was in order for his race to advance decently to the next stage of existence.

But the brutal treatment he was getting was unlike anything he had ever expected, far beyond his wildest nightmares.

He momentarily lost control of his composure and started to shake sharply.

“Hah-haah!” Magdalena cried out. “Movement!”

Dark Blood flowed out from the slashes in the man’s face at a medium pace.

The scene was immensely gruesome; it had the possibility of disturbing even those Observers who don’t normally get disturbed.

Fletcher Munsin tried his Damndest to remain still. He kept his Eyes closed. He was trying to transcend this, and concentrate on all he thought he was.

And wasn’t.

He thought he heard Magdalena stand up. The uncertainty of the next indecent incident that might happen sent tense, involuntary tremors throughout his entire body and Fletcher Munsin began convulsing. In his mind, though, he lay as still as he could, trying his Damndest to become One with this twisted act, and everything else.

He still feared what was Cumming.


All of a sudden, the man let out an involuntary piercing shriek of terror that sounded strikingly feminine. He tried with all his might to keep a focused mind. He realized then that this was by far the most difficult thing he ever had to do. Well, as far as he could remember…

And just as the meditating man, so mindful, started to feel himself mightily rising above the situation, he felt another thing he thought he had never felt before, something that seemed to possess his very Soul. Something that was a very physical sense, hugely powerful, that brought his displaced Consciousness right back to his dissolving dissolution.

From his perspective, the poles of Fletcher Munsin’s Mind, his Body, and the Andromeda Biodome, now altogether seemed to shift swiftly 180° to part with duality, then spiraled out to a detached disillusionment. Literally.

“AHHH!” he shouted in disbelief. He was losing his noodle.

“DON’T SCREAM!!” he screamed to himself.

After a severe panic attack, the man was somehow able to regain composure. He lay, confused. He wondered if he was ‘dead.’

“It’s okay,” said the Mother softly, soothingly, Knowing exactly what was going through the man’s Head. “You’re only human,” she remarked frankly, and gently, with a mocking tease.

She giggled again.

Fletcher Munsin was able to take in one deep breath, and let it out smoothly.

“So are you, you conniving cunt!” he exclaimed behind clenched teeth as he gathered up the willpower to rise up and head-butt Mother Magdalena square in the face. He felt an electro-magnetic sensation that shocked his Heart as his Head came in contact with her’s. Blood splattered about and now the faces of both significant mortals were covered in it. And Mother Magdalena was laughing.

“Is all this pain an illusion?” she asked, mockingly. With a few brisk shakes of her head, she shook off some of Fletcher Munsin’s Blood from her face in sprinkles. Eyes shut tight, sprawled about the ground on his back, the man envisioned Magdalena before him with a big smile on her face. Perhaps ironically, he opened his Eyelids abruptly to see the Mother before him with exactly that smile upon her face.

“Is this what it means to be Alive?” she taunted with a devious smirk.

What the man felt next was a swift smarting of his inner left leg the whole length down and he screamed out in agonizing pain.

He slipped into Shock.

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He slowly came to comprehend what had just happened: that she had sliced into the full length of his inner left leg. Deeply. With her trusty dagger.

Another loud shriek from the woman, and the man felt the same on the other leg. He let out a blood-curdling cry of utter torment. Hearing himself naturally scream out in such terror while trying to connect his Spirits with the Pain, the man realized again how feminine his wails sounded.

Despite these physical life-threatening lacerations on both his inner legs, which were providing quick and easy escape routes for his body’s blood, he closed his Eyes to try and consciously escape the scene, even though he wasn’t supposed to. He had immense trouble trying to take a deep breath. He was trembling uncontrollably. The man tried to center himself. He tried to just go with it. He tried to experience this special circumstance of the Highest significance Truthfully and vicious as it so was.

“HAH-HA!” exclaimed the Mother. “There we go! Now we’re having fun!!”

Fletcher Munsin continued trying his Damndest to keep composure.

“What the fuck!!” the Mother shrieked. “Did that not hurt enough!?” She stuck her long-ass nails deep into the leg wounds, carved his thigh down to his lower leg, deeper, and deeper as she wore an aroused look on her face.

Fletcher Munsin cried out in pure agony like a spoiled, juvenile Bry Dellows Loombug.

The Mother proceeded to insert another razor-sharp nail inside and down the whole length of the slash of Fletcher Munsin’s other leg. Agonizing womanly whines were heard from behind the man’s clenched teeth, the Mother expressionless all the while. And the first brief moment he could Contemplate healthily his predicament, Fletcher Munsin was able to remark to himself upon his complete astonishment over his wails, and how pussy they sounded.

With some more effort now after somehow being able to steady his mind just the slightest bit, the man was successfully able to temporarily hold back a few screams he wished he could let out, and, at each moment he wanted to scream, the Mother acquired more and more vigor to continue on with what it was that she was doing. She was stealing his energy. And his mass.


The next thing Fletcher Munsin felt was Mother Magdalena’s slender legs wrapped around his legs once again, but this time with both of his legs thoroughly slashed from thigh to ankle, down to the bone. And with more significantly intensified squeezing from the Mother, in pumping rips with her gorgeous legs, there now allowed for some substantial bloodletting.

Fletcher Munsin felt himself tapping into a Void and was finally able to completely jive with what nature was allowing him to finally experience. There was no possible way that he could feel any more pain then he was feeling right now, and so used this idea to convince himself that if he could sustain this treatment, he could sustain any foul treatment that may befall him. These thoughts made the man feel a little better despite his dying daze, and he involuntarily winced with madness throughout this crippling, distinctive procedure of intimate squeezing of the legs, still nevertheless succumbing to sporadic screaming.

And now, Fletcher Munsin felt he surely must be dead… yet he still felt conscious. Still felt ‘pain.’ And what he was learning right now would redefine the meaning of that word for him forever.

Perhaps strangely enough, a part of him still felt slightly aroused.

But then, all-at-once, he started fiercely seizuring before getting knocked-out cold, unconscious.



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Mike Eye found his passion for literature early in life, and has been reading and writing imaginative stories since elementary school. After working for several years on his own material, Mike Eye finally self-published his first novel, The Aqueous Transmission, in 2016. The author describes his debut tale of dark lore having been completely influenced by TOOL. He studies obscure sciences and philosophies, and is currently working on the sequel to his first novel. He has an incredible ear for music and also enjoys going alpine skiing and taking nature walks in the vast forests of his native New England. Mike Eye’s blog can be found at DarkEsoterika.com.


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